This is not refusal of happiness
A desperate plea for attention
It is a manifest of emotion
Not some imaginary invention

There is a madness populating my head
Billions of shouting ugly voices
Every one an echo of my own
Spelling my lack of choices

Lately hopeless feelings have grown
A desolate cold orchard
Blossomed a place I belong
I'm welcome but also tortured

I have laid down my roots in quicksand
I'll be withered by afternoon
A pile of wilted petals
Unless I am picked by someone soon